Inspection No R97038
by Lyra Dogstar
Summary: A typical inspection of Azkaban. I may keep going on to include the inspection in which Sirius escapes. But only if I am told I should.


Author's notes: Err...um...R&R.  
  
@%@%@%@%@%@%@  
  
"On a Monday, I was arrested (Uh-huh!);  
  
On a Tuesday, they locked me in a cell (Oh Boy!);  
  
On a Wednesday, my trial was tested;  
  
On a Thursday they said Guilty and the judges gable fell.  
  
I've got stripes, stripes around my shoulders;  
  
I've got chains, chains around my feet;  
  
I've got stripes, stripes around my shoulders,  
  
And those chains, these chains are 'bout to drag me down.  
  
On a Monday, my mama come to see me;  
  
On a Tuesday they caught me with a file;  
  
On a Wednesday I'm down in solitary..."  
  
Johnny Cash, 'I got stripes'  
  
@%@%@%@%@%@%@  
  
Sirius woke up, top find the entire cell covered in a light layer of snow. He wiped it off his blanket and out of his hair. Then he noticed banging around the jail and somebody yelling. It was time for another inspection.  
  
He watched the iron door on his cell flying open, leaving only bars between him and the hallway. The man was giant, and very buff. He was wearing a fur hat and thick gloves, with army boots. The man yelled at Sirius to stand up and take his hat off. He wasn't to be wrapped up in the blanket or looking at his feet or talking or fidgeting. All that Sirius was aloud to do was stand and be quiet, and look at the inspector. He had to come up to the bars, nod his head respectfully. If Sirius were to do anything that the guard said not to do, he would get himself a hard beating.  
  
Sirius wasn't very willing to come any closer to the two dementors standing next to the door, but the human guard had something even more unpleasant in mind if Sirius didn't obey. So he walked reluctantly to the door.  
  
"Inspection number R-97038. Cell block 10. Prisoner numbers J-83057, J- 93669, J-89230, J-94796, J-8937, J-73957, and J-783854. Let's see. J-83057, tell me your name, birth date, and what sound a cat makes." Cornelius Fudge, who else would they make such strict arrangements for.  
  
He heard John Lestrange's voice answer. "John Lestrange, born April 13th, 1960. A cat meows."  
  
They went in this order. "Number J-89230, name, birth date, and...bark like a dog."  
  
"John Jacob Jingle Heimer Schmidt. Monday 45th, 9302. Cocka-doodle- doooooo!" "He's cracked. You may now put him in his straight-jacket."  
  
Right down the line. Then finally, "Number J-783854. Name, Birthdate, and howl like a wolf."  
  
Sirius was silent for a moment, then said, "Sirius Black. Born October 31st, 1960." He gave a low howl and then stood for a moment.  
  
"Sirius Black, still sane," Fudge said to his companion. "That's a matter of opinion." Said his companion.  
  
When the two had left the block, they unlocked Sirius door and put him in handcuffs. They told him to follow them. Him and everybody else in the block were lead down to a large room while people came to clean out the cells.  
  
They were told to strip and set put their clothes under their number on a shelf, then were sent to get a shower. Sirius saw a man pick up all his clothes and start searching pockets, jean turn-ups, and soles of his shoes for weapons. Then the door closed behind him.  
  
After the shower their clothes were returned to them. They were taken to a room where they sat for haircuts. If their shoes had holes they were given a new pair and they were given warmer clothes for the winter.  
  
There was a choice of things they had to occupy their time so they wouldn't resort to fighting, or even more dangerous, *thinking*. Sirius picked up a pack of cards. He was most likely not going to use them anyway.  
  
When he returned to his cell, there was a fresh pile of straw for him and the metal bucket for peeing in was washed out. When the door slammed back shut, Sirius went straight to the corner. He pulled loose a couple stones and took out his few possessions. There was a long, shiny knife with emeralds encrusted, five packages of chalk he had collected from the more lenient inspectors, a flint rock, a penknife, a lighter, and half a pack of cigarettes he had once managed to get a hold of from one of the younger inspectors.  
  
At least he had these few things. He took a half a stick of chalk. He slowly redrew the large circle in a corner of the room that the people cleaning had erased. While doing this, he whispered the line that went with it to himself: "This is a magic circle. As long as you stay in it, no harm will come to you."  
  
He knew that it was all made up, but when he was little he actually did believe it. When he was scared his mother would draw a circle like this, and say those words to make him feel better. And now, it was just a small comfort to him.  
  
"Tell me, mate. Why do you draw that circle and sit in it almost all the time?" came the voice of one of the prisoners. He had been in here for two months, which meant two inspections.  
  
"It's one of those things from childhood, that you keep hoping will make you feel better."  
  
"Well, I guess we're all like that. Only with different childhood memories. Does it help?"  
  
"Yes. Sometimes."  
  
"I'm glad for you then."  
  
Just one more inspection. Just one more month gone by. 


End file.
